


Ancano's Focus

by PennyForTheGuy



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Altmer - Freeform, Elsweyr, F/M, Inter-Species Sex, Khajiit - Freeform, Khajiit breeds, Mental Instability, Sexual and emotional repression, Thalmor assholery, male/female sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 21:58:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13690653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PennyForTheGuy/pseuds/PennyForTheGuy
Summary: Ancano is not the man, or the Thalmor he once was. His mind is scattered; his goals tangled, he is confused about himself. Its not normal for him. Its hard to admit. Even when he's alone he can't really let himself have what he truly wants.





	Ancano's Focus

**Author's Note:**

> Ancano has always come off as repressed and more than a little unhinged. What Thalmor doesn't? Even when you get to the college he seems two clowns shy of a circus. People often make already existing stresses and issues worse when they repress their emotions, especially their sexuality. So here's my imagining of the straw that broke Ancano's back. 
> 
> Many many thanks to the Ta'Agra Project. They are a group working to make an entire language from the tiny bits of Khajiit tongue we have from Elder Scroll games. I used their translator to get the lines in the Ta'Agra. Check them out. http://www.taagra.com/

Was it a worthwhile endeavour to study sexuality, in depth, at length? Most people asked would say no, there are more important problems, study a way to travel faster, or grow more food, or build better structures, something, anything useful! 

Ancano would say that. Oh he would regardless of whether there was anyone around to hear him. But thinking in his own little fevered mind he thought it was damn time to look into this drek. Sex, more specifically sex with the wrong people ruined so many things, marriages, alliances, family lines and just everyday relationships could be torn-to-shreds if one person so much as smashed their genitals with someone they should not.

If one could completely and with no shadow of a doubt understand why and how attraction works in the first place and thus circumvent being attracted to the wrong people or at least work through it without succumbing- how many things on Tamreil would be different?! 

Ancano shook his head. 

Thoughts getting carried away again. He was in a bad place mentally and he knew it. Everything was getting harder and he was getting sloppier. Ancano was a good agent; once. He could pluck heartstrings like any daedric prince; he could get anyone dancing to his tune with a smile on their inferior faces. Once. 

Then he started falling part. Words slipped out, enemies unraveled secrets with them. He followed too closely and marks got away. His coded journals were too easy to decipher and finally he failed to eliminate a thorn in Thalmor’s side. That was supposed to be an easy way to save face. His completely cocked it up and ended up here in Winterhold. 

He was a utter and unforgivable mess; a shame to the Thalmor. He walked across the courtyard with back straight and nose in the air, but internally he was stooping and shuffling his feet. He was tired, and frustrated, so very very very frustrated. So much so he couldn't think of better words, though he knew they were there. 

When even thoughts get lazy something is far more than just out of tune. Finally locking his chamber door behind him Ancano took on that pose he felt, slumped, exhausted, and a wreck of a mer. He knew deep down why he’d been feeling this way and he hated it. 

He clawed at his pristine black and gold robes. Unfastening the outer layers with weak and trembling fingers he tossed the heavy leather and wool garment aside. It was supposed to land on a chair by the bed but his heft was so half hearted it crumpled on the floor. 

He sighed and turning to the bed let himself fall unceremoniously onto his ass, then threw himself onto his back. 

Elsweyr.

He’d been in his prime before Elsweyr. Ah that warm clime was so much better suited to him. He of course pretended otherwise but he felt this welt, miserable cold in his bones. He kept his heavy Thalmor gloves on even to read because his poor fingers were chapped and even splitting. All his once glistening golden skin was dry and itchy, his ivory hair was turning into a hopeless; brittle matt. 

He felt himself being worn down like any of the rocks out in the Sea of Ghosts. Wave after wave completely unrelenting and he could do nothing but take it, take it and wait for oblivion to come. But in Elsweyr…

It was warm and humid in Pellitine. The houses open to night breezes, you could roll out your futon in a solar room with all the outer coverings slid back and practically sleep under the stars. The heady scent from incense burning in every home would waft up on playful breezes, intertwining the disparate scents.

You could also hear singing just barely on those breezes, mother Khajiit singing lullabies, boskers humming melodies to feed their hungry hats, and lovelorn strays crooning to their mother moons of dear ones out of reach. 

Ancano felt his heart soothe a little thinking of it. After a difficult and damn near fatal mission in Cyrodiil he’d been allowed an easy post in the newly reforms kingdom of Pellitine in the Thalmor Embassy to lay low. 

He’d had his own little house and a decent retinue of Khajiit servants in Torval, and could stay at the winter house of a friend in Senchal nearly whenever he liked. Oh how he missed that house, how he missed Torval. He should miss the Summerset Isles, in all their perfection! He should miss his stately family home in Alinor. 

But his true thoughts and feeling wouldn’t be denied, and all alone and with no way in on Nirn to intrude into another’s mind he indulged them. He rolled onto his belly and propped his chin on his thumbs thinking about Torval. 

Living there as a Altmer truly felt like living in splendor even if you weren’t. Since the void nights and the Thalmor’s restoration of Masser and Secunda the Khajiit not only welcomed their allegiance, but practically lined up to serve or help anyone with even a slight golden tint to their skin. 

Unlike most his comrades he learned Ta’Agra or at least enough to be polite when requesting things of his staff. 

Being polite to anyone but another Altmer was not in Ancano’s nature but against it he’d made exceptions for Khajiit. He could quite suss out why. 

They were certainly fascinating on a purely biological standpoint, posted in Pellitine he’d met Alfiq-raht arch-mages who communicated by conjuring paragraphs in the air and fought by leaping around the battlefield with all the dexterity of ocelots and raining fireballs and frost lances on their foes with all the fury of dragons. 

He’d trained with and at times been guarded by Pahmar and Pahmar-raht. Truly they embodied the Kahjiit’s prowess as warriors...and were one the few types he’d rather not fight. They favored charges to open a battle when more than 6 times out of ten their adversaries pissed themselves just to see a giant tiger man barreling down on them from seemingly out of nowhere... Well he preferred being the one telling them what to charge at. 

The Khajiit, their culture, and their homeland truly grew on him the short time he was there. He missed leisurely meals of pihalko shamep, that rich and thick cheese soup that you could add anything to and make it better. 

He could hear his old housekeeper telling him old tales about Lorkhaj, Rajhin and Baan Dar. One night when he’d caught a sweating fever so badly he started to fear for his life she calmed him, singing a lullaby about Jode and Jone the great moons and how they choose every Khajiit’s form and their path in life. 

He could just smell the thick gatay incense that burned in every home regardless of status. It was different from most incense in Tamriel in that rather than relying on musk as its main ingredient it utilized the resin saturated gatay tree wood. He remembered visiting a Clan Mother who practiced a very disciplined school of incense making. She had showed him the only good way to select gatay wood was to place in water. If it had the proper amount of resin soaked into every fiber it would sink like any stone. 

The gatay made the whole of Torval city smell like a temple. Add in the street foods sizzling and roasting merrily away along with flowering trees and plants that lined roads and adorned houses, Torval was nothing but a pleasure to stroll through. Khajiit architecture, favoring organic arches, open spaces, fearsome and vibrant colors and lattices so fine as to be made of paper rather than wood or stone created a display as enticing for the eyes as the scents were for the nose.   


All this thinking of Pellitine and Torval and he couldn’t help thinking of the Khajiit women. Divines help his sorry soul.

As much as the land culture grew on him, so did Khajiit women. He had not indulged while in Torval or in Senchal. Perhaps he should have. Maybe now he wouldn’t be so miserable. When did it start?

When did he start longing to run his hands over soft and fur covered flesh? When did he start wishing the women would daringly swipe a tail up his leg as they did for other favored males? When did he start wanting to bop noses and rub whiskers with Cathay and Suthay girls, greeting them in that cheeky and affectionate way?

He certainly could remember the exact day he considered rewriting ‘The Lusty Argonian Maid’ anonymously making the maid Khajiit and the master clearly Altmer. Ancano shuddered. How disgustingly juvenile of him. 

He’d boxed up these urges, put them in a little corner of his mind all nice and tidy and fully intending to forget about them. The damn things clawed their way out and shook off the dust as he left Elsweyr and spent year after year away. 

Locked up in this college he was as far away from Torval as he could possibly get. This assignment was punishment. He knew it. Oh his superiors could claim otherwise all they wanted, but he no one’s fool. 

He’d gotten sloppy and was shunted into a position the Thalmor felt certain he couldn’t ruin. And he’d gotten sloppy because his neatly ordered mind rebelled after leaving Pellitine behind. And add to all this, his longings seemed to have grown flesh of their own and followed him here. The College of Winterhold boasted two Khajiit students, J’Zargo the Cathay male who was so egotistical he may be the only person people avoided more than Ancano himself and the other a... _ enchanting _ Suthay-raht female. 

Both of them had fur that evoked images of snow leopards. Thick and fluffy, well suited to cold weather and rosettes of black and cream set against silvery grey. But she had eyes that made sapphires seem dull, and she dabbed red lines around them making that etheral blue stand out even more. 

Durga was her name, she had a better command of Cyrodiilic than her schoolmate J’Zargo and didn’t speak of herself in third person (though if he could ever be fully honest with himself he found that quirk of Ta’Agra fascinating). She had an accent thick as year old milk though and her words rumbled, her r’s were purred and her teeth snapped on certain sounds unintentionally showing pearly white fangs. 

Like so many Khajiit her tall ears were pierced several times and sported glinting loops of gold, all etched with tropical patterns and a few studded with the tiniest of gems. Her figure beneath her robes and beneath her fur he could tell was rather full, but deliciously curvy. 

These wretched and freezing nights he wanted to steal to her room, tortuously only a few doors from his. He could smell gatay wafting from it every night. 

_ Sweet Mara, give her to me _ ; he could not help but pray. To just slip silently down those three doors to hers, crack them open just enough to glide in and softly close again. To see her waiting, already disrobed and her long tail slowly and patiently tapping on the covers. 

“Ahziss shije jer vara zath serush dorr hazura.” 

( _ My jewel you are too lovely for words _ )

He whispered in Ta’Agra, loosening his own garments and letting them fall. 

He didn’t imagine her words, just the purring praise she would lavish on him as she reached for him. Altmeri intimacy had protocols even as a couple took to their bed. Ancano always loathed it. With Durga he could just slide into her arms and press his lean body flush to her ample one and luxuriate in the feel of it.

“Jer linu vuzmi’i sej let jajo fa zitay jer.” 

( _ Your soft perfect fur, let me caress you. _ )

He ran his greedy fingers all up and down her body through that soft fur he praised, peppering her lips and neck in kisses. Her chest vibrated with purrs and he couldn’t suppress a huge grin as his brought his hands to her breasts and filled them. 

Her tail snuck up between his bare legs, swiping over his goose pimpled skin before curling around his hip and settling on the small of his back.

The tiny twitches it gave as he lowered his mouth to her nipples and lavved them told him exactly when he was doing everything right. Her clawed hands knotted in his long hair and by the time he was done playing with her her nipple were at peaks to rival the Throat and her tail was tapping a tempo on his back.

He kissed his way further down, burying his nose in her fur and inhaling her scent like fine qatay. He ventured further, settling himself between her thighs and parting her Dibellan lips. He allowed himself a moment to just drink in that sight, her quim already swollen and wet before dipping his head actually drinking her in. 

She crooned and ran her claws over his shoulders and scalp, only exciting him further.

“Jer zashto vari iso ahziss lipith zaji.” 

( _ You taste sweet on my tongue sexy. _ )

Such filth her whispered to her. She giggled and praised him, then pulled him away from his ministrations, his face still covered in juices. She licked her nectar from his lips and her hands stole down to his own hips, soft furred finger wrapping around his painfully hard length and stroking. 

Ancano moaned against his lips and went limp as jelly, she had no trouble flipping him over and pinning him beneath her weight. 

Ancano produced purrs of his own as they embraced a brief moment. She slunk down his body now, fingertips and whiskers tickling and teasing golden flesh. 

Just as he thought she’d be returning his favor, she drew up and in a movement straddled his hips and hilted his member. 

Ancano groaned like he’d been punched. His breathes sped up two fold and he strained just trying to hold still and savor the feel of her. He committed this act to memory the same way as the weaknesses of his enemies.

Her velvety quim slowly pulsed around him, squeezing and caressing his cock and allowing him such deep entrance. Her fur pressed flush to his skin made him feel like he’d sunk even deeper into her body.

Ancano initially started tender, short thrusts upwards his brow knitted with her effort to remain slow but Durga had other ideas. She gyrated her hips like the best of belly dancers, bracing her clawed hands on his chest and near snarling as she rode him. His eyes rolled back into his head with her movements and he ran his tongue obscenely over his lips. He came to realize she had his arms pinned over his head and couldn't give less of a damn. He was exposed completely to her, and to what he dimly remembered was cold night air.

Skyrim’s hateful chill had been chased away and was just left with enveloping warmth that kept growing with every thrust of their hips and scrape of her claws. He couldn’t hear the howling winds outside, just her erotic purrs and his frantic breaths. His nose was overwhelmed by the scent of her sweat, their combined musk and woven in with it the gatay still burning.

“S-sri jajo fa…” he huffed out, “Zwoka...zwoka jajo fa if-oh-ifu jer.” 

( _ K-keep me...wear...wear me l-oh-like yo- _ )

His words melded into more breathless moans.

Durga lowered her nose to his and bopped it. Her whiskers tickled his cheeks and made him smile wide.

“Ifu kaaka?” she murmured. She slowed her movements just a bit.

( _ Like what?) _

“Ifu jer zivsho’i jelwi.”

( _ Like your golden jewelry _ )

Her blue eyes sparkled and her looked incredulous. 

“Skai alimer dan janno ali khajiit?” she said with no small hint of sarcasm. 

( _ The proud altmer gives himself to a khajiit? _ )

“Jat!” 

( _ Yes! _ )

He answered with all the conviction he could muster in his lust addled state, which was still a fine amount.

“Jat, kerov ganith.” 

( _ Yes, without question. _ )

Ancano lifted his head to capture her lips and surrendered himself to her renewed gyrations. He gnawed his lips and let his moans slip from his throat with no rein. He wanted her to know exactly how much he enjoyed her, he wanted her to enjoy him. And it seemed she very much was, still purring away and moved faster, her eyes beginning to go glassy. 

He watched how her breasts bounced merrily and how her fur became slick with sweat, nothing about this coupling drove him away. He could feel his muscles tensing up an intolerable pressure was building just below his navel. 

Ancano leaned up and moved his grip to the small of her back, holding her down on his groin for just a moment while his orgasm finally burst and rippled through him. He wasn’t aware of the sounds he made, just the ecstasy and relief washing over his in wave after wave. 

He felt Durga’s wonderful quim spasm around him a moment later and it briefly brought to another small peak to feel practically vibrate around his cock; milking him for all he was worth. As their breathing slowed Durga slumped into his welcoming embrace. Ancano felt more than just stated, he felt somehow free. 

“Maal vasa siir ari maal wo jajo fa. Jajo alimer se dov'kono dok ari'i jer.”

( _ Stay under the heavenly moonlight love, stay with me. This altmer will never stop loving you. _ )

Ancano huffed, his breathing beginning to even out again. He brought his hand up and grimaced. His glove was covered in white sludge that nearly made him gag. He’d only opened his clothes enough to allow his pawing hands access. Now he was plastered in his own disgusting cum. He leaned up just a bit, his grimace only deepening. 

That last bit he imagined, why the fuck would he ever say that? He leaned his forehead on his clean glove and tried once again to desperately organize his addled mind. Love? Love? He didn't need love there was no place for it. His had missions, plans, goals and he need above all else to try to get himself back into a mind space to focus on those. 

He wasn’t attracted to Khajiit. There was no point in it. There was only a meaning in finding and using secrets, finding and using power. 

“Think like a Thalmor man.” his whispered to himself. 

Absently he flicked his cum stained right hand, a few viscous strings shook off and landed on the cold stone floor and began to freeze. Time to forget Elsweyr. Time to forget Durga. Time to claim his destiny. Once he was master of his own desires again, he knew he would not be long in finding it.


End file.
